Some Journey

The most important word in this song is the first: "If." The song is largely speculation, followed by a return to reality "as it is." In this, the song echoes the structure of a sonnet— one set of circumstances, followed by a “volta,” a turn toward the opposite.

The speaker feels that if the conditions had been different— the setting, the lighting, the clothing, the entire atmosphere— romance would have bloomed between her and the one she is singing to. 

She imagines the two of the having met on a train speeding "eastbound." By the description of their clothes, they would have been heading toward the Orient. He would be wearing "silken robes," and she, a mere, sheer garment made of "smoke and fire/ for [him] to see through." Oh, my.

Or, what about a "darkened room" of some mysterious sort? She describes a room in which people "pass" but "do not stay," perhaps some sort of hotel. He would have "taken [her] upstairs" to, presumably, a bedroom... where who-knows-what would have happened when he "turned the lamplight low." 

Without them knowing each other, they could have shared a consequence-free tryst (or a few). Knowing her reality would never have had to be revealed, she could have indulged his fantasies, and have played his "little girl... wife... mistress... lady fair..." or even "woman of the road."

In any case, she would have them vanished, "disappeared like the snow," or he would have "never come back home to [her]." No morning-after consequences.

There is an emphasis on clothes— things you can disguise yourself with— and motion. Even the clothes are made of "smoke and fire... lace like foam from the sea," things that are formless and ever-moving and fleeting. Even in the "room," well, no one stays there, and in the upstairs room, she would simply vanish.

There is no stasis, no solidity, in the romantic world of her imagination. Also, very little light.

The train passes through a “black, sleeping” town. Other words and phrases also evoke darkness: “smoke,” “darkened,” “shadows,” “never see the day,” and “turn the lamplight low.”

Then the dreamer awakens to find the opposite is true. She is in a land of buildings, not trains. Of homes, not hotels: "We live in the city." And? "And everything stays in place."

In her reality, there is an “open sidewalk,” very public. “Well I know your face,” she says, cringing at the over-familiarity. (it's "well I know," as in "I know it well," not "Well, I know...") 

There is also an atmosphere of openness: “We talk and talk/ We tell the truth,” and disappointingly, “there are no shadows here.”

She wonders if he has had the same thoughts: “When I look into your eyes/ I wonder what might have been here.” (Yes, Vega rhymes “here” with itself. What can you do?)

And still she wonders, if— instead of the static, bright, too-honest city— they had met on some inky, hazy, sultry journey, with identities masked and mystery swirling … if…

The song ends with a question repeated throughout: “Where would we be now?” The key word here is “we.” She imagines them, if they had been able to meet with some “shadows” around, being able to maintain a relationship. Not here, in the blare and glare of the city, but some other “where.”

The journey could never end, of course. The “where” would have to keep changing, if the basis of the relationship is the lack of stability. They would have to stay on that train.

Still, it doesn’t sound like she’d mind that.

Next Song: The Queen and the Soldier